


Bound

by Jenwryn



Category: Bleach
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, PWP, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-29
Updated: 2009-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd only ever had eyes for him. A hypothetical future piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kink meme where Anon requested: "Ichigo/Orihime, strictly consensual missionary sex in Ichigo's bed".

_It was bound to come to this_, he thinks, as he looks at the girl spread naked beneath him, his vision aided by the gift of hindsight. Truth be told, though, he had actually been incredibly dense about the whole thing, and it had taken Rukia's bluntness to make him realise what had been standing there the whole time: Orihime, with eyes for him alone.

But that had been months ago.

Right now those eyes of hers keep fluttering from open to closed, as though she can't quite focus on any one thing, except for his body, and what it's doing to her. He shifts his hips and leans into her, deeper; her mouth opens and breathes out raggedly, and she tilts her own hips up to meet him. There's sunlight falling across her face, tumbling in through the half-closed window, and the world is full of afternoon sounds, but all he can hear is her, and the little noises she makes as he finds his rhythm inside of her. Her hands fist at his bed-sheets, crumpling them with slightly damp palms, even as her legs rise a little, trembling, to pull him in closer. She feels so damn good against him, beneath him, moving with every push of his body, and her nipples are hard when he bends to mouth at them. She always bites at her lip to try and keep back the sound when she comes, but the deep moan escapes her anyway; half made of his name, half made of something much more mysterious and primal. Her inner clenchings take him with her, his body collapsing down onto hers and lying there, heavy and spent, until she finally pushes him off of her, and rolls onto her side to gaze her fill of him.

"Ichigo," she says, just because she can. She reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from his forehead, then runs her hand downwards, downwards, to trace invisible drawings upon his bare chest.

It has become so familiar, this, but Ichigo doesn't mind.  
_  
_Familiar, in his world, is a synonym for comfort.

And the comfort he has found in Orihime's arms can only be defined as love.


End file.
